


Pretty Hurts

by madamteatime



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Angst, Body Image, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamteatime/pseuds/madamteatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perfection. It’s a disease of the nation and Changmin hasn’t built up enough immunity to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ['Pretty Hurts'](http://madamteatime.tumblr.com/post/69871732724) off Beyonce's new album

Sometimes Changmin looks in the mirror and sees a grotesque monster looking back at him and doesn’t know who it is. 

He stares at himself and categorises each imperfection with dull efficiency: nose – too big. Lips – too wide. Ears – huge and ridiculous. He’ s too tall, all gangly limbs and awkwardness. Model-like, everyone had called him, and not realised how painful it was for a shy 18 year old who just wanted to fit in to stand out so blatantly. So he shrunk himself, tried to look small and dainty, and got scolded for his bad posture and inability to own his own body. 

Subway ads and giant billboards promise him perfection, an onslaught of personal transformation that assaults him every time he steps out of the house. A little nip here, a little tuck there, and all it takes is an injection and a cut into his skin. 

Intellectually, he know it’s a bad idea. Go once and you’ll want to keep going, again and again until you reach that surgeon-promised paradise. He sees the synthetically enhanced faces of people around him, his friends and co-workers and the quiet desperation in the eyes of women who have gone under the knife one too many times. 

Perfection. It’s a disease of the nation and Changmin hasn’t built up enough immunity to it.

Sometimes he finds himself watching Yunho, Yunho with his tiny face and small, neat nose and a mouth that most women would kill for. Everything about Yunho is in perfect proportion. Yunho isn’t too tall, nor is he gangly. It makes Changmin despair. It makes him angry.

Quietly, discreetly, he makes an appointment with an acclaimed doctor, a man with lots of fancy letters before his name and awards on his walls. The doctor asks what he wants to get done and Changmin doesn’t have any answers for him.

“I’m not sure I want it,” he mumbles. “I’ve just been feeling kinda. . .down lately.”

Kindly, the doctor tells him that maybe he should take more time to think about it. Then he hands him a bottle of pills and a consent form for him to read over and maybe come back with later when he’s feeling more assured.

Changmin doesn’t go back. He leaves the consent form on his bedside table and takes the pills and they numb the idea out of him for a while. 

They also numb everything else, make him listless and withdrawn and uncommunicative.

Yunho tells him to come over for dinner. He doesn’t ask what’s been going on or if Changmin’s okay – just asks him over and Changmin nods and agrees. 

“I’m cooking,” Yunho declares cheerfully, and Changmin cringes and tries to remember it’s the thought that counts.

Yunho chatters as he cooks, about the new film he’s shooting for and what his friends have been up to and how hot it was in Thailand. 

“Hm,” Changmin mumbles in reply. He isn’t paying attention – he’s too busy staring at his thighs and wondering how painful exactly leg reconstruction really is. They saw off the bone or something, right? He winces at the thought. 

But then he imagines himself a couple of inches shorter, just the right height to look small and elegant and perfect next to Yunho and suddenly the pain seems worth it.

Yunho has stopped talking. Changmin doesn’t realise until fingers curl under his chin and lift his head up.

“What’s wrong?” Yunho asks, and there’s no trace of a smile on his face now. 

Changmin can’t meet his eye. His gaze skitters away, mouth pressed in a thin line. 

Yunho comes closer, tightens the grip on his chin.

“Changmin?” he says softly. 

“It’s nothing,” Changmin says, voice flat. He tries to shuffle away, to curl into himself and hide.

But Yunho knows. Yunho knows every tiny, inconsequential little thing he hates about himself. Yunho knows all the insecurities that blossom in him like wounds, is intimately, painfully aware of all the things that make Changmin want to shrink himself away from the world.

Slowly, carefully, Yunho puts his arms around him and rests Changmin’s head on his chest.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says.

Yunho knows too much.

“I’m not hiding,” Changmin mutters. Yunho’s scent is strong in his nose, his detergent and bodywash and Calvin Klein cologne. “Not from you.”

Silence. Yunho’s fingers stroke through his hair almost absently, and it feels good except that Changmin is tense in his arms.

“Changminnie?” he says after a while.

“What?”

“You’re perfect.”

It’s a bald, simple statement, spoken as though it’s an incorruptible truth and nothing but the truth. Yunho tells him he’s perfect the way other people comment on the weather, or the price of gas that day.

Changmin’s breath hitches.

Tears soak Yunho’s shirt like summer rain.

\- - -

After a while, when Changmin has sobbed himself into silence, Yunho picks him up and carries him to his room. 

It’s not easy – Changmin is tall and heavy – but Yunho never falters. He settles Changmin on his bed and tugs the covers up around him and Changmin blinks red-rimmed eyes up at him.

“We haven’t had dinner,” he mumbles, throat hoarse from tears.

“Are you hungry?”

Changmin’s lips quirk up. “Not for your cooking.”

Yunho laughs and strokes Changmin’s hair off his forehead. “I know. I’ll order something, okay? Take a nap in the meantime, you haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

Changmin nods and wonders how Yunho knows he hasn’t been sleeping well when he’s been overseas for the last 3 days.

Yunho waits for his breathing to even out before getting up, grabbing his keys and walking out of the house. He gets in his car and makes the drive to Changmin’s apartment, lets himself in and goes searching. 

He finds the surgery consent form and rips it to angry shreds that flutter to the floor like snowflakes. He digs under Changmin’s pillow and extracts the bottle of pills, goes into the bathroom and dumps them all into the toilet and flushes them away.

“Hyung?” 

Changmin’s voice in the doorway makes him turn around. Yunho swallows and fixes him with an unrepentant look.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“You left,” Changmin says. 

He steps in and sees the empty bottle in Yunho’s hand. His face darkens.

“What did you do?” Changmin whispers.

“You shouldn’t be taking those pills,” Yunho says.

Unreasonable anger boils inside Changmin. “You had no right,” he snarls. “How dare you come into my house and mess with my things – ”

Yunho isn’t backing down. “Where did you get them?” he demands. “Which doctor? Tell me his name.”

“No, it’s none of your business,” Changmin wrenches the empty bottle out of his hand and has just enough time to see hurt flash across Yunho’s face before he turns away.

Yunho follows him into his room and grabs his shoulder. “What was that consent form for? Is this seriously how you’re thinking now, like you need to _fix_ things about yourself – ”

“It’s none of your business!”

“It is my business!” Yunho thunders. “ _You’re_ my business. Did you really think I was just going to sit back and let you screw yourself up?”

Changmin covers his ears and shakes his head. “Stop it, stop it, I don’t want to fight – ”

“I want to fight,” Yunho grabs his hands and wrenches them away from his head. “I’ll fight you for you. _There’s nothing wrong with you_ \- ”

Changmin sinks to the floor with Yunho clutching his wrists and grits his teeth.

“Stop,” he breathes. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand!”

“You don’t understand what it’s like! You’ve never – look at you – ”

Words tangle like thorns in his throat and Changmin makes a helpless, choked sound. He’s limp in Yunho’s hold, head bowed and hair falling into his face.

Yunho takes a deep breath and steadies himself. 

“Changmin,” he says. “Look at me.”

Changmin shakes his head.

“You think I don’t understand? Do you really think I’ve never felt the pressure to change my appearance, to be _perfect_?” Yunho spits the word out like it’s poison. “Don’t you remember how painful my veneers were when I first got them? It’s not worth it baby, it’s not – ”

Changmin’s head droops onto his shoulder. He does remember – he’s the one who had kept extra pain meds in his bag for Yunho, the one who had made sure he took his pills on time, the one who had massaged his headaches away. 

The fight drains out and leaves him light and clear.

“I’m stupid,” Changmin whispers. 

Yunho’s hand sinks in his hair and pushes his head up so Changmin’s forced to look at him when he talks.

“You’re not stupid,” he says. “It’s not stupid to want it. But the people who do this to themselves do it because they don’t have anyone to tell them they’re fine just the way they are. But you’ve got me, and I’m telling you that right now, and I’ll tell you every day until you believe it.”

Yunho’s hand leaves his hair to cup his face, and Changmin closes his eyes.

“Hyung. . .”

Yunho lowers his voice and leans closer. “I don’t need you to be perfect Changminnie. I just need you to be you.”

It’s dark and safe behind his eyelids, and Yunho’s words give him the courage to lean forward and close the gap between them. It’s clumsy and his aim is off – he ends up mouthing at the corner of Yunho’s jaw and feels the other man go still against him.

“Please,” Changmin whispers, and squeezes his eyes shut, too afraid to open them now.

There’s a beat, and Yunho shifts into a more comfortable position. His fingers come to rest on Changmin’s jaw and tilt his face and Changmin almost panics, thinking Yunho is pushing him away, but then – 

Soft lips close over his. Changmin makes a muffled sound and Yunho kisses him with unbearable sweetness, his hands rising to cup his face. 

Heat frissons through him and he presses closer. His arms wrap around Yunho’s neck and Yunho’s hands slide down to clutch at his back. It’s slow at first, unsure, but then Changmin opens his mouth and Yunho’s tongue flicks out to taste him and they moan in tandem. 

They tumble down on the floor, Yunho on his back with Changmin on top of him and his heart thumping double time at the illicit thrill of kissing his hyung, his best friend, his partner. 

Changmin pulls back with a gasp and opens his eyes. Yunho gazes up at him soft and slumberous, a flush on his cheeks, and Changmin can’t resist leaning down and kissing him again like they can sink into each other.

He wakes later that night to find Yunho sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone. He’s got the duvet pulled across his lap but otherwise he’s naked, and Changmin reaches out a hand and touches the dimples at the small of his back. Yunho’s head turns slightly towards him; Changmin rolls to his knees and wraps his arms around Yunho’s neck from behind, chin propped up on his shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Just checking tomorrow’s schedule,” Yunho replies, showing him a message from their manager.

Changmin doesn’t care – he buries his nose in Yunho’s temple and inhales the lingering scent of sweat. “Come to bed,” he whispers, thrilled that he can actually say this.

Yunho laughs and tosses his phone aside. “I am in bed.”

“You know what I mean.”

Changmin shuffles back and allows Yunho to climb back in beside him. They curl up on their sides facing each other and Yunho trails a thumb over his cheek and across his lips.

“You look really pretty after sex,” he murmurs, almost wonderingly, and Changmin grins a little. He nips at the thumb lingering near his mouth. 

“Just after sex?”

A smile softens Yunho’s face. “No. You’re always pretty Changmin-ah, you know that.”

And Changmin leans closer and kisses him, lips soft and plush against Yunho’s.

He does know.


End file.
